This is not the way I had envisioned spending a Thursday afternoon. Normally, I would be chained to my desk in the city, buzzing to finish my stories for that afternoon’s deadline. I would be making phone calls, writing emails and arguing with the sub-editors over grammar.
But not today. Today I woke up about 10.30am, had a nap a few hours later, and whenever I needed to use the bathroom, I would need to physically lean on my mum to help make the short distance.
A lot is made of how ‘busy, busy, busy’ we all are, but I never really thought about my own level of action before I woke up with a fever two weeks ago, and have been stuck in bed ever since.
I have Glandular Fever. I know it’s not a medical tragedy and that I’m fortunate it’s nothing worse. But when my doctor called to give me the results of my blood test, I burst into tears.
This simply wasn’t good timing; I don’t have time to be sick! I’ve got stuff to do! And at the risk of sounding like a competitive wowser, I’m really just too busy for this.
When I mentioned this to my mum, who has extraordinarily nursed me ever since I became sick, she looked at me like I had announced I was converting to Scientology and that, yes, Tom Cruse isn’t at all insane.
“You’re joking, right? You’re too busy to me sick? Oh Lani, I’ve never heard anything so stupid.”
My first instinct was to defend myself and my little outburst, but I’ve got to admit she has a point. I’m sick, but I’m getting the best care, and with any luck, I’ll be back on my feet in a couple of weeks. But it’s so strange to be immobilized like this, to be so swiftly taken down – it’s like I’d forgotten I’m human, in a rush to be and do everything.